A Love Letter to Berlin

by Júlia Pejó Vergara

The first time you visit Berlin you’ll either inevitably fall in love with it or find it the most horrific, cold metropolis on the planet. There's no such thing as a middle ground for the capital of Germany, a vibrant parallel universe that seems to spin around itself (and of course, your choice will be largely influ enced by the season of your visit!).

The first time I visited Berlin I was around 13. The trip was part of a “bonding” family vacation, and I remember the air was freezing (or maybe it was just a family from Barce lona suffering from not-made-for-northernweather-syndrome). Of course, we fulfilled my mom’s stereotypical tourist dream: The Brandenburger Tor, The Pergamon Museum, the Fernseher Turm... and the truth is, I fell in love with this place.

Captivated by the impromptu graffitied walls of Kreuzberg, the number of teenytiny wholesome cafes and the never-sleeping nature of the city, I found myself projecting my own future in Berlin. I remember the last night we spent there: we were having dinner at a café; I looked my mom in the eyes and I said: ‘One day I will live here’.

Well, turns out now almost ten years have passed and I am living in Berlin, and to be honest, this blind love needs some nuancing. Berlin is an intense city, vibrant, overwhelming at times, and requires time and effort to learn how to navigate. Berlin, I’d argue, highlights the best and the worst of humankind. It's home to millions of people who come from everywhere, it’s the materialisation of unfolding history, the most latent reminiscent of the DDR.

Berlin shakes you and kisses you in the ass. Berlin welcomes you with open arms, but somehow still feels cold. Berlin is a club where everyone is half naked (or completely, no judgement) and you are offered every possible drug at the toilet. But Berlin is also this cute old Oma drinking coffee and selling handmade yarn socks at the Sunday weekly at Boxhagener Platz.

Berlin is cute but can also be dark. The current housing crisis has turned the city into a wild free-market jungle in which you have to fight for your own survival. Finding a WG (short Wohngemeinschaft, or shared flat) is allegedly one of the proudest achievements of my life. And yet I find beauty in my overpriced WG in Danziger Strasse with a broken sink and my mattress laying on the floor. Berlin has taught me to be grateful - for my humble home, the (sometimes too shy) sun, and for the freedom it offers you. Berlin is a place of liberties - no one will look at you for the way you dress, for whom you kiss or your life choices. I feel safe here. I feel free.

It feels like Berlin is in itself an adventure. You leave your home every morning and you never know what’s gonna happen. Might be an (actually very expected) unexpected delay on the Ubahn (the metro). Or perhaps a naked dramatic music performance on the tram. Maybe, you’ll bump into a mass techno parade (true story) or a demonstration for the rights of chihuahuas. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll witness an illicit drug police raid and perhaps, by the end of the night you will end up at an underground Brazilian drag queen bar.

Ultimately, Berlin is packed with experiences, fascinating people and mind-blowing spots to discover. I would like to end by mentioning some of my favourite ones. Because I can. First of all, Spätis are mini grocery stores (they sell mainly drinks) that are open 24h. Do you have a craving for banana juice (yes, it’s a thing here) at 4am? You go to your Späti. You forgot to buy some mate for the rave tonight? You've got your Späti. Späti is that friend that always got your back and it never expects anything in return. And maaaann, alcohol is cheap here!

Secondly, another of my favourite things (maybe this has to do with my major?) is how much art there is everywhere and how accessible it is! As a student, I can afford to consume performances and exhibitions every week without having to sell any organs. Art is democratised, made by and for the people, and I absolutely love it.

Finally, and this is going to be controversial, but I must confess my inexplicable love for the German language. I know it's irrational, but there's something about the unapologetically long words and the devastating Adjektivdeklination that makes me thrive. Practising my broken German (particularly with middle-aged German women in the S-Bahn) has been a source of joy and sorrow. But really, don't believe in stereotypes. Germans are really nice (sometimes). Or maybe it's just Berliners.

Berlin, I’d argue, highlights the best and the worst of humankind.

Sadly, my days in the city have come to an end. I've cried in Berlin, I've loved it here. I've felt nostalgia for a place that I don't even dare call home. There's an eternal sense of belonging emerging through the streets of Berlin, in fact I have managed to somehow find myself here more than anywhere else.

A few days ago, I saw a huge Ubahn stop coming back from my friend’s place. It said: ‘Having to leave Berlin feels like leaving the love of my life’. Perhaps, and only perhaps, this is the only way to describe how I feel about my upcoming goodbye. Thankfully, I can look at myself in the mirror, into the depth of my pupils and promise (this time to myself): I'll be back. And I will.